


Brand New Beginning

by Ashkiis



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Rick x Negan if you squint, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8448511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashkiis/pseuds/Ashkiis
Summary: The axe was raised, he was staring at Carl, his tears so thick he couldn’t even make out his son’s face when he heard Negan’s ‘tsk’ through everything else. It was a mocking sound, a fake noise of disappointment. He looked over towards the leader, wondering what he had done wrong now. Negan shrugged, a false frown on his lips. “Too late, Rick. I made it to three.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sure someone already thought of this, but I couldn’t help but wonder, what would happen if Rick didn’t give Negan the defeated look he desired? So here is how I thought that might go. If this has been done before, I hope my version is interesting enough to be readable!
> 
> Of course, though it truly pained me to do so, the family dies in this fic. So be aware of that. Not a happy story.
> 
> Not sure if I will continue. I was gonna show Rick's life under Negan's rule, but I'm not sure. We will have to see!
> 
> I tagged the story as Rick/Negan because of the very very tiny sexual overtone towards the end (and if I continued it I would probably lead it in that direction). But I apologize because it's not very...ship-ish? I dunno. Haha.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading this. I just had to explore it a bit!
> 
> Edit: Choco did a translation of this story! Yay!! It can be found at: http://whale-it-be.lofter.com/post/1d2b2c9f_cfb1112

About seven years before the end of the world, Carl had brought home a fragile piece of artwork from school. It had dried macaroni, beads, felt, and buttons glued to a thick piece of construction paper with glitter halfhazardly filling the blank spaces. “It’s called a ‘collage’, dad,” his son had instructed him, haughty with his newfound knowledge. “And that means it’s a picture made of a combination of things. Miss Doughton says it’s _artistic_.” Rick, who had never quite appreciated art as much as he probably should have, had smiled and patted his son on the head and told him it was a well done masterpiece. In all honesty, he had really thought it looked like a jumbled mess. And truly, the precious collage had caused more trouble than it was worth. The collection of hodgepodge items that made up the picture were continuously falling off, the glue not strong enough to keep it together. But Carl would dutifully glue a fallen button, or a loose bead whenever he noticed. His son was diligent, if nothing else.

It was funny how the mind drew comparisons, thought of things it maybe hadn’t even remembered for so many years. The collage had eventually hit the trash after a few months, and with it, Rick’s focus on the piece. But now, as Negan threw him forward into the gravel, as he forced himself to rise to his knees and face his family, Rick’s mind thought of the project his son had brought home. He felt just like that shitty collage. He was barely hanging on, pieces of himself coming unglued. But he didn’t have a caring master putting his pieces back on. Instead he was falling apart piece by piece, each shard of his soul and sanity hanging by barely there strands.

To have fallen so far, so fast, was a sensation he was having trouble wrapping his mind around. Sure, his family had experienced trauma and loss before. Who hadn’t, in this godforsaken world? But this? Abraham and Glenn struck down so quickly, so brutally? And this man, this, _Negan_. He was so sure of himself, so in control. Rick had never felt quite so challenged in the past, didn’t know how to compete with a man of this stature. Even the Governor didn’t compare to this monster. Rick didn’t know how to combat him.

“Let me ask you something, Rick.”

He was shaken from his thoughts by the monster’s voice, reminded that he was still in danger, that his family was still in danger.

“Do you even know what that little trip was about?”

Rick tried to come up with an answer that the psychopath would accept. Sarcasm had long since eluded him, and he was sure Negan wouldn’t react kindly to a snarky response anyway. Why had he been separated from the group? Was Negan trying to see how capable he was, how much of a threat he posed? Or was he trying to teach Rick his place, try to scare him into submission by sending him out amongst a horde of walkers with nothing to fight with? Or was the leader of the Saviors just a crazy man that made decisions on a whim? No matter what, Rick truly couldn’t think of what to say that would appease him.

“Speak when you're spoken to!”

A heavy, shaky breath escaped him. Instead of calming the monster he was angering it. Time to bring Negan back down. And he wasn’t even feigning his submission. Rick couldn’t say he was acting out his fear and degradation. Instead his panic was truthful, and was plainly evident in his voice. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”

His audible response was enough for Negan to move on. “That trip was about the way that you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand.” Rage was bubbling inside of Rick, the submission not quite in control, and Negan’s words weren’t doing any good cooling his hatred. Despite the fear for his family, he couldn’t help but feel his brows knit in frustration. What did Negan think? He wasn’t just going to give in.

“But you're still looking at me the same damn way like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that's not gonna work. So do I give you another chance?”

The sudden terror he felt wasn’t for himself. Rick was suddenly reminded that his family needed him, depended on him. Without him, they would fall to pieces. His breathing became more ragged, his heart beating a rhythm he knew couldn’t be healthy.  “Yeah,” he answered, keeping it short and simple. To the point seemed the best option when dealing with this psychopath. “Yes. Yes.”

And if Rick didn’t know better, he would say that Negan was…pleased with his answer. “Okay. All right.” The Savior leader chuckled, a loathed sound that send a bolt of hatred straight through Rick’s spine. “And here it is, the grand-prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone's last crap day or just another crap day.”

He was wary of Negan, knew that the offered chance would come at a price. But Rick could hardly bring himself to care. As long as he was around and no one else died. That was all that mattered.

“Get some guns to the back of their heads.” And the gathered men did as they were told, pointing the deadly weapons at his family and cocking their guns audibly. The threat was anything but subtle. “Good. Now level with their noses, so if you have to fire it'll be a real mess.”

Negan was _sick_. He was absolutely deranged. Rick felt his body trembling with the effort of not lashing out. But he remembered Daryl’s outburst, knew what sort of consequence he was facing if he did try anything. Glenn’s final moments flashed in his mind, and Rick felt tears on his cheeks again, a pitiful sob lodged somewhere in his throat.

He barely registered that Negan was moving on, addressing Carl and even laying a hand on his son. It wasn’t until Negan had laid the teen on the ground next to him, had drawn the line across his arm, that Rick finally understood what the other man was going to do. “Please.” Insanely, he was struck with the thought that he had never, _ever_ cried in front of others as an adult before the apocalypse. He had hid his tears during his parents’ funerals, allowing Lori only to see his eyes misting before he excused himself. It had always been an issue of embarrassment with Rick – to let others see him in a weak moment. Now though, now he couldn’t care less. The end of the world had changed everything. “Please. Please don't,” he begged, tears and snot dribbling down his face. “Please don't.”

And Negan looked on him with anything but pity. Instead he was smiling, enjoying his pain, drinking in Rick’s humiliation and sorrow. “Me?” he asked before laughing again, a low chuckle that sent that same bolt of hatred through the ex-lawman. “I ain't doing shit.”

After that, the exchange was a blur. Begging did no good. Crying only egged Negan on. He was told his family would die, that his son would be murdered if he didn’t make a choice. “Not making a decision is a big decision” Negan called out above his bellowing. And Rick knew it, _knew_ it. But how could this man really expect him to mutilate his own son? Carl had already lost an eye. How could he take something else away? How could _he_ do anything to Carl? Negan must not have had any children, any family. He just didn’t understand.

The axe was raised, he was staring at Carl, his tears so thick he couldn’t even make out his son’s face when he heard Negan’s ‘tsk’ through everything else. It was a mocking sound, a fake noise of disappointment. He looked over towards the leader, wondering what he had done wrong now. Negan shrugged, a false frown on his lips. “Too late, Rick. I made it to three.”

And then those strong, cruel hands were fisted in his sweat drenched curls, turning his face towards his family. Rick struggled, tried to swing the axe at Negan, but the larger man grappled expertly, disarming him with ease. “Stop fighting or it’ll be slow,” he hissed in Rick’s ear and when he didn’t stop, Negan growled.

“Start with the knees on the mullet-haired bitch,” Negan called out, his voice relatively steady despite his efforts to keep Rick restrained.

Two shots rang out, Eugene wailed, and the cries from his family were a harsh cacophony in his ears. None of them dared move, knew they would die before they made it even two paces. Rick too quit his struggling, relaxed his body against Negan, not willing to allow harm to come to anyone else because of him.

“Okay, okay, I get it. Please, I’ll do it. I’m sorry,” Rick pleaded, turning his head as much as he could.

Negan’s tongue slid along his bottom lip and he smiled, enjoying Rick’s begging. The former lawman almost dared to hope, would have thrown himself at Negan’s boots if the pleading was actually going to work. He lowered his gaze while also baring his throat, grasping at straws, hoping that his total compliance would give his family mercy.

He needn’t have bothered.

With a chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest, Negan shook his head with mirth at Rick’s antics. He knew what the leader of Alexandria was up to, but he wasn’t giving in. What was it Negan had said? Oh yes, he was ‘a man of his word’.

Rick realized that his entire world was about to be ripped away from him like it was nothing. This monster was going to ruin him. He felt his mind snap in two at the thought of losing the rest of his family. He began to scream, fighting anew, shouting expletives he would have never thought would come out of his mouth. His entire body railed against his tormentor, heaving and twisting like a fish flailing in a net.

And all the while shot after shot went off, first into Sasha’s shoulder, then into Maggie’s thigh. Aaron took a bullet through both palms. Eugene’s sobs began anew when a bullet ripped through his left thigh. His people screamed their agony, fresh tears were added, and still Rick could not stop. He fought against Negan, struggling for all he was worth.

“Dad, stop!”

His son’s voice brought him to an abrupt halt. Carl’s voice was tight and watery, an absolute wreck. He wasn’t crying, but Rick could tell he was close. A gun was pressed to the back of Carl’s head, and it was obvious he too had been fighting by the scrapes and cuts on his arms. It seemed his son had caught on much earlier that it was useless and it was only bringing pain to the other captives, however.

“Look at that. Kid’s smarter than daddy.” Negan laughed as he shook Rick’s head roughly. “You really fucked over your people, Rick.”

Head hanging in defeat, Rick tried to ignore the whine that bubbled in his chest. “Please,” he whispered, knowing it wasn’t going to do any good.

“Rick.”

This time it wasn’t Negan. Rick’s head swung around to face Daryl. His brother, his best friend, his _family_. Fresh tears sprung to his eyes at the sight that met him. The archer had been shot in the arm and in one of his knees, but he didn’t reveal that he was hurt. Instead his eyes shown in the same trusting manner they always had and he nodded at Rick, their signature move to one another. “Don’t beg this piece of shit.”

Negan roared with laughter and pushed Rick to the ground, finally releasing his crushing hold. "Oh ho! Big man we got here!" The Savior leader paced closer to Daryl, eyeing him carefully. "Fitting you die, country boy. You got the Asian killed, now your leader's killing you!" Negan laughed again, throwing his head back with the force of it. When he finished laughing he lashed out, punching Daryl in the jaw. The archer fell, but his eyes remained on Negan despite his collapse, defiant. "Returning the favor!" Negan announced with another loud guffaw.

Daryl spat in Negan's direction, showing his disgust. "Fuck you," he hissed.

A moment before Negan’s voice had been filled with mirth. Like a sudden flick of a switch, his voice the next second was cold, hard. “Do it,” he ordered, and before Rick could voice any protests, the man behind Daryl pressed his finger to the trigger.

When Shane had died, Rick had felt a sense of loss unlike any he had felt before. When Lori had been lost, he had felt the heartache even more strongly. With Daryl, it was like losing both all over again, so intense was his pain. The loss was drowning him, filling his body with wave after wave of grief. He had never wanted to _murder_ a person. Even when the Governor had killed Hershel, Rick hadn’t hated as badly as he did this man. His hatred was like a vice around his chest. If his sorrow didn’t kill him, his hatred for Negan would. Rick howled, and when he sprung up, Negan was ready, laughing all the while.

“Kill ‘em all!” Negan chuckled, throwing Rick to the gravel by using his momentum against him. He stomped on Rick’s back, leaning down and leaving his weight there. “Leave the boy, though,” Negan quickly amended before his men could carry out their orders.

His body shuddered and he arched his back in an effort to get Negan off of him, but he was just so _tired_. He couldn’t fight this man like he normally could. He was out of focus, too weak. “Stop, stop!” he screamed, his voice raw, broken. The tears were back, and so was the snot, dripping disgustingly down his face.

The executioners were merciless. First Rosita fell, and then Eugene. As he was shouting, he made eye contact with Maggie, and he pleaded her forgiveness. She sent him a desperate look, and Rick tried to understand, to grasp what she was trying to tell them. And then a bullet ripped through her skull, ending the stare she had been giving him. He stared at her fallen body, not really understanding what was happening. How…? How could she be gone?

Michone was screaming his name – had been, he realized for the last few minutes – and he had never seen her this way. She had never shown so much emotion, seemed so out of control of herself. The whites of her eyes were showing, reminding Rick of a desperate animal that knew its time had come. He was able to look at her just as her murderer leveled his weapon to the back of her head. She saw though, realized she had finally gotten his attention through his crazed state. “Rick, I l-“ was all she was able to say before the man behind her ended her life.

Sobbing wasn’t a strong enough word to justify what his body was doing. He couldn’t breathe. The grief was drowning him. He couldn’t get the tears out fast enough to stop the sinking. Rick felt his body shuddering with exertion, felt his entire form trembling. He didn’t register that Negan was manhandling him, dragging him away from his family. He wasn’t aware that he was still shrieking, swearing at the killers and at Negan, that he was issuing threats he could never hope to enact.

When he finally stopped screaming, when he was reduced to just tears, he realized he could still hear Carl. His son was shouting at him, repeating his name over and over. And still, Rick couldn’t rouse himself enough to get up and help the only remaining member of his family. He felt absolutely torn, like his entire body had been broken. Before he had wanted the tears out out out to stop from drowning. Now, he wanted to keep them in. Maybe they would help him, let him float away. He realized the idea made no sense, but his broken mind latched on to it, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to block out the world. Rick shivered through the sobs, curling his arms around himself. Maybe if he held himself tight enough he could keep himself from falling apart.

But like before, when Carl’s voice had broken him from his manic state of fighting, so too did it now cease his mourning. When his son’s voice rose an octave, became more pleading, Rick realized his flesh and blood was in danger. He forced his eyes open, ignored his brain screaming at him for letting his tears out. _Now you can’t float away!_ His eyelids slammed open and he looked around, saw that one of Negan’s men had Carl in a grip. His son was on his knees, the teen’s arms forced behind his back. And Negan was whistling, swinging the axe experimentally in the direction of Carl’s head.

“Don’t!” Rick screamed, and he scrambled forward on all fours. His desperation had hit a crescendo. Rick wasn’t sure what he would do if he lost Carl. He wasn’t sure he could continue living. The hole that had been ripped through his chest, the empty space where his heart had been lodged before his family had died, was already killing him. Losing Carl would be the final blow.

With a nonchalant jerk of his head Rick was restrained by several men. He couldn’t decide if he should fight or not. His instincts screamed at him to protect his young at any cost. But his brain told him to hunker down, that that was the only way for his survival. Rick was left in limbo, pulling at the men’s arms that restrained him, but not with his full strength. “Negan, I get it! I get it. Please, not my son!” he sniveled, the tears flowing steadily down his cheeks in a rapid stream.  

The other man cocked his head, studying him. He bounced the axe on his thigh, seeming to truly contemplate the request. “Well Rick,” he sighed.

“PLEASE!” Rick bawled, realizing that Negan had no plans to give mercy.

“You should have listened,” the Savior leader continued, ignoring him. With a laugh he whipped around, swinging wildly. He caught Carl in the upper shoulder, and his son screamed in agony, his one remaining eye opening so wide Rick could barely see the pupil past the white.

“Whoops!” Negan laughed again. “Bad aim. I’ll get it right this time.”

Swinging again, Rick realized that Negan intended to prolong the torture when the axe imbedded itself in Carl’s opposite shoulder. His son was finally crying, showing the emotion he had locked away so strongly. Both father and son shouted, voicing their matching suffering.

The other man ripped the axe out once again, and Rick cringed when his son let out a high-pitched wail. “Rick.” Negan had turned to face him, and Rick was mesmerized by the blood that dripped from the axe. He could barely comprehend that the other man was speaking to him. Each driblet of blood that fell magnified his detestation for this man. The seed of hatred had sprouted, and his family’s blood was watering the vine that would surely entangle itself in the cavity his heart had left.

“You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?”

Negan’s words weren’t making sense. He couldn’t respond. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, weighing down any words that dared to escape.

“Speak when you're spoken to!” Negan swung again, cutting deeper into the first chop.

“You answer to me. You provide for me,” he repeated over the Grimes’ screams.

“Provide for you!” Rick repeated, nodding his head desperately. Anything to save Carl.

It wasn’t enough to satisfy the monster. “You belong to me, right?!” he bellowed, and the axe was raised again.

“Yes, yes, yes!” the lawman wept.

Negan’s smile was serene. Rick wondered if the other leader realized he had broken his adversary. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear,” he stated, nodding. His gaze flicked towards Carl, unfazed with the gore and damage he had caused on the young man’s body. “Well kid, it was nice knowin’ ya.”

Like Daryl, Rick didn’t have time to voice his threats, denials, or pleas before Negan killed his target. The axe was brought down on the top of Carl’s head, and though Rick found a small relief in believing his son had perished from the first blow (and not the five that followed), he felt himself sagging in the arms of his captors as sobs enveloped his entire body. The world was absolutely silent. He couldn’t hear anything. Negan’s mouth was moving, he could see the Saviors chuckling or making comments when their mouths opened, but Rick couldn’t hear.

His body was shutting down. That was the only explanation. He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t hold himself up. Rick was dropped unceremoniously to the ground and he collapsed there, feeling himself fall apart. His eyes were open, but he was unseeing. His sense of touch had been lost too, it seemed, for one minute he was lying still on the ground and the next he was being dragged by his feet. But he couldn’t feel the tiny rocks that cut at his exposed skin, or the pain of a random kick one of the Saviors gave him. His entire body was numb. _You could have floated away_ his mind supplied uselessly, but Rick mourned the loss of the perceived escape all the same.

It wasn’t until Negan had propped him up, had gripped the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in close, that Rick was shaken from his shock. He stared with confusion into the Savior leader’s eyes, shrinking away when he couldn’t find any humanity there. “Mine,” Negan purred, and he licked along the seam of Rick’s lips. The Alexandria leader heard a whimper escape himself, but he couldn’t move. His limbs were heavy and shattered. His mind was barely working. The glue that kept the collage of himself together had come undone, the pieces of himself falling away. He wanted to be with the other components of himself. Despite the breakdown of his brain clogging his rational thinking, Rick knew Negan wouldn’t grant him a release though.

“Almost happy it ended up this way, pretty boy,” Negan whispered. “Haven’t had this much fun in a long time.” Some of the men laughed, enjoying Rick’s suffering and their leader’s taunts.

Unable to respond, Rick instead stared dumbly at the other man. Negan rolled his eyes and stood. “Fucking emotional bitch has lost his mind,” he quipped, and his men laughed again as they dragged Rick towards one of the trucks.

He was tossed into a gray vehicle, a man with a gun trained on him. But Rick wasn’t going anywhere. Didn’t think he could. Of course he could fight, but where would that get him? His family was dead. If he played along, maybe Alexandria would have a chance. Maybe Judith had a chance. He curled up as much as he could, clutching his aching chest. He couldn’t feel his heart – it was gone.

Negan slid into the front seat, and he adjusted the rearview mirror in order to make eye contact with Rick. “Welcome to a brand new beginning you sorry shit,” he told him, and the smile that curled the killer’s mouth made Rick’s empty chest ache.

And then the Savior leader gunned it, the truck tires spitting gravel on top of his family.


End file.
